


Down the Rabbit Hole

by seijuro



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seijuro/pseuds/seijuro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he could remember about that night was he left the window curtains open, and it was such an insignificant fucking detail that it made Nijimura almost want to laugh. It was those stupid curtains he stared at and the uneven flowers stitched on their hems when he picked up the phone, only to hear Midorima’s voice: “Akashi is dead.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down the Rabbit Hole

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings: death, suicide (not a suicide fic tho)  
> prompt: staircase  
> i was JUST trying to do a cute nijiaka drabble challenge!! starts crying  
> i dont know what happened but its my birthday and everything is a bad idea right now and all i have is a murder mystery fic that takes place after knb

**une.**

All he could remember about that night was he left the window curtains open, and it was such an insignificant fucking detail that it made Nijimura almost want to laugh. It was those stupid curtains he stared at and the uneven flowers stitched on their hems when he picked up the phone, only to hear Midorima’s voice: “Akashi is dead.”

**deux.**

It was very late Sunday night or very early Monday morning, Nijimura was oceans away, and Akashi Seijuurou was dead.

**trois.**

If Midorima saw the body, he didn’t tell Nijimura anything about it. For that, at least, he was grateful.

“They don’t know how he died,” Midorima said in between sips. He couldn’t stomach how _calm_ Midorima was about the whole situation. Part of him wanted to praise him for it. The other part wanted to hit him. Nijimura was surprised at himself, too, though when he thought about it, he knew it was only because he was in shock. And when that wore off… Nijimura didn’t _like_ thinking about it. Akashi was dead. There was only so much thinking he could do.

He’d gotten to Japan as fast as he could. “They did an autopsy. They have to know how he died.”

“No,” Midorima said, putting the cup down. His cheeks looked so hollow Nijimura could count the bones inside them. The guilt was suffocating. “They don’t know _why_ he died.”

Nijimura laughed, slamming his own cup onto the table so hard everyone sitting around them in the cafe quieted. “Well, of course. What does it matter, anyway? He’s dead.”

Midorima looked from Nijimura’s cup to his eyes. “I don’t think you understand. They’re saying it could be murder.”

**quatre.**

He owed Himuro the world and then some for letting him crash in his apartment. In a sick way, it was only the apartment that made him realize how long he’d actually been gone. The last time he was there was the summer of Akashi’s first year in high school. Himuro had changed the carpet, moved a few things around, and all of a sudden it didn’t even look like the same room.

(Nijimura needed a drink. Maybe two.)

What if it _had_ been murder? It wasn’t impossible; Akashi was famous. Akashi was rich. The more people who knew you, the higher the chance that at least one of them wanted your head (one of the few things Nijimura enjoyed about being virtually invisible). His stomach churned and it hurt to swallow.

(Maybe three.)

And if it wasn’t murder? Akashi wasn’t careful, wasn’t reckless. Nothing added up. There was no way it was an accident. If it wasn’t murder, and if it wasn’t an accident, then it was--

It was--

He opened his eyes and he was on a couch (a new one, Nijimura noted) with a cold, wet rag pressed to his forehead. Nijimura sat up, ignoring the sound burst of pain in his leg.

“How are you doing?” Himuro asked, walking into the room. He turned the lights down and Nijimura looked away. “You were screaming earlier when I walked in.”

“I’m doing okay.” _Okay enough. You know, considering he’s dead._ Was he screaming? He couldn’t remember anymore. “Thanks, by the way.”

Himuro said, “No problem. It’s the least I can do,” and left him be. Himuro was always good at reading the mood.

Nijimura sat there for a few moments, but the quiet made him both grateful and afraid. Quiet was nice. He didn’t have to think past the noise. But it wasn’t enough. It left him alone with the Thoughts and Those were far, _far_ worse than anything else. He wasn’t thinking at all when he realized he wanted to plunge his hand far into his core and rip it out, but he didn’t know what he would find, and that, too, was frightening.

**cinq.**

He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or seeing, but Nijimura knew it didn’t matter. There was a bit of red hair and his heart froze in its place. Akashi turned around, smiling. His lips moved and Nijimura could hear nothing, though as far as he remembered, Akashi never spoke with words. A few hot-white flashes of nothingness, and he was drowning.

Akashi. He saw Akashi. He looked childish, still, a little chubby around the cheeks. His hand played with the fraying edges of his Teikou uniform. He wanted to grab him. He wanted to burn.

He couldn’t hear what Akashi was saying. Was it a goodbye? Was it a greeting? Was it something remembered? Was it something forgotten?

Either they were moving or the world was. Nijimura had long since been able to tell the difference. He turned around and saw Akashi peering at him from the top of the stairs, looking small and a little sad. The eyes were staring downwards. He tried to ask something, but Akashi didn’t hear. Akashi couldn’t hear.

“You better go,” the Akashi said, leaning forward with his hands in his pockets. He had the drawn-out smile on. Nijimura liked calling it drawn-out when it was really drawn-on. It was Akashi’s fake smile. “You have to go back.”

 _Where_ WHEREwhere? Go? Back?

“You know _where_ ,” the Akashi told him. The smile was still fake, but it was becoming a little nasty. He’d stopped staring at Nijimura.“You’re the one who came here, after all. You better know how to go back.”

Akashi. The top of the stairs. The red behind. The red at the bottom. Leave? Why?

 “I have to go somewhere, too.” He pulled the smile into a frown. “Nijimura.” He spoke it like a curse.

Nijimura opened his eyes before he could see him hit the ground.

**six.**

The numbness hurt. Himuro pushed a bowl towards him, said nothing, and left. Just looking at the food put a foul taste in his mouth. Nijimura was wondering why and he hated himself for it. Why return? Why bother?

His phone rang and he only picked it up on instinct. “Hello?” Nijimura said, voice and throat raw.

(The Akashi hadn’t fallen. He’d jumped.)

“Hey,” Aomine answered. Nijimura couldn’t see him but the pity was plain. “There are a few things I gotta tell you. About Akashi.”

 


End file.
